


Pretense

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-13 11:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11758803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: Shortly after the case of the Abominable Bride, Sherlock Holmes is given another case. But this time he finds himself temporarily without an assistant. This provides the perfect opportunity to offer the position to the other Doctor in his life...and it happens that Molly Hooper is currently very much in need of distraction.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BriarLily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarLily/gifts).



> This was definitely a fun project! I'm not on fire writing like I have been in some years past, so even a few chapters felt like a bit of an accomplishment lol. I'm very glad to have done it and definitely hope my prompter, and everyone else, enjoys the finished product.  
> And as usual, a special thank you to Lexie, who was kind enough to help me plan and also do the always needed beta reading. ;)

_ Personal Journal of M. Hooper, M.D. _

 

_ 7th of January, 1896 _

 

_ I wonder sometimes how I find myself where I am today. I am a different person now compared to who I was only a few short years before. I miss her, especially tonight. _

_ It would be hard for the woman named Molly Hooper who existed a few years ago to understand what I’ve recently been a party to. And it is hardly something that could be explained. I had to live this life to understand why I joined them...The Brides. I had to live and work as a man and be among them day in and day out to truly know the injustice, the hate, and the cruelty. It was eye opening in the most disturbing of ways. I wanted more for the women around me who were more completely at the mercy of the men in their lives. I had already made a life for myself, one that was all my own, but not everyone can be so fortunate.  _

_ Though, perhaps for that topic, I should go back the beginning. That is, after all, the proper way to tell a story. _

_ I remember that day so clearly, the way the breeze blew bits of my hair around my face, and also quickly dried the tears that ran down my cheeks. We sat there on a bench in the Commons at Cambridge, myself and Mr. Holmes, and I showed him the latest letter I’d received which refused my entry to medical school. He was as distressed as I was, though his reaction was one of anger instead of tears, nearly ripping the rejection letter to pieces before I removed it from his hands. He proclaimed them all to be utter imbeciles who had no concept of who possessed talent in the field of medicine. I recall that he commented that likely there were a dozen wealthy young men being accepted while I was being rejected, men who had nothing to recommend them save the ambition and money in the pockets of their parents. Mr. Holmes had had just about enough that day, and I remember him looking into my eyes quite intensely and swearing to me that I would reach my goal of becoming a doctor.  _

_ And then he told me that he was beginning to concoct a plan as to how I might do it. _

_ I admit that I laughed aloud when he first began to speak of this idea of his. It was nothing short of preposterous! But he continued talking, and I listened...and heaven help me, I began to realize that he was right. This was how it must be done. To get what I wanted, I would truly have to become a different person. _

_ It isn’t fair or just, and it certainly isn’t glamorous - but it worked. In fact, it  _ **_has_ ** _ worked flawlessly. But as I have already stated, to be a man, working in a man’s world, that lays a heavy weight on my shoulders. I have got what I always wanted, but at a significant price. I have paid with my life; the life that I should have been allowed to have.  _

_ And perhaps even the people that I should have been allowed to have in my life. _

_ What’s done is done, of course. I cannot take it all back. Not my secret identity, my work, or even my recent criminal activity. And now I am simply left to wonder where I go from here. The Brides are no more, that is certain. And even if they weren’t, I believe that even my now tainted heart could stomach no more of that sort of life.  _

_ But what sort of life can I have now? Can I truly live as Dr. Matthew Hooper for the rest of my days? And if I cannot...is there really anything else for me anymore? What options do I have? _

_ Tonight, I am left feeling as if I have none. _

* * *

 

Sherlock Holmes paused on the landing at the top of the narrow stairs that led up to the door of a tiny flat in a quieter part of London. He’d never set foot here before, and really only knew the address due to his brother’s ledger and its regular payments. He took a moment to reminisce about how he and his old friend Molly Hooper had ended up here, on different sides of a war he was prepared to lose, but combatants nevertheless.  How much had changed since their university days. It had all seemed much simpler then: of course, life was anything but simple. Molly herself had changed by the time she had indeed fulfilled her dream of being employed at Bart’s hospital. Being in the role of a man for that long and living and working among them, she had seen so much to harden, disgust, and embitter her. Sherlock could hardly blame her for her feelings, or even for her recent actions.

He hoped that she was still there, that she hadn’t fled for fear of being arrested. But to his relief, the artificially gruff voice answered his knock from behind the door.

“Who is it?” 

“It’s Holmes,” he answered, which prompted a long moment of silence. So he spoke again. “May I come in and have a word?”

More silence followed, but finally he heard the bolt being slid away and the door creaked open, allowing him to enter. Only once he stepped in and turned did he see her standing behind the door. 

Molly Hooper shut and locked her door and turned to face him, arms crossed protectively over her middle. She wore her usual masculine attire, but the wig and facial hair was missing. Her hair was pinned carefully back though, perhaps in preparation for the rest of her disguise.

“Please tell me you haven’t come to spout some sort of lecture,” she said with a sigh. “There’s nothing you can say which I haven’t already told myself many many-”

“Nothing like that, Miss Hooper,” he said, cutting her off.

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Been a long time since you’ve called me that.”

“Naturally,” he replied softly, with a friendly smirk. “It has been some time since I’ve had the occasion to.”

She hesitated but finally gestured to the small sitting area nearby. “Tea?”

“Yes, please.” 

Sherlock tugged off his gloves and removed his hat as he took a seat on her ratty little sofa. The place wasn’t much better than his own, and smaller. But he knew why. Molly chose something out of the way, something hidden, where nobody would visit and pry into her private life. A life which barely existed outside her work.

A few minutes later she came in with the tray and poured them each a steaming cup, adding the sugar to his before handing it over.

She took a couple sips in silence before clearing her throat and setting the cup down.

“Holmes, why are you here?”

He returned his own cup to the saucer with a little clink, and then smiled at her while leaning back in his seat. “It occurred to me that perhaps in your present circumstances, you may be in need of a bit of...distraction.”

Molly stared back at him evenly. “Distraction? Of what sort?”

Sherlock enjoyed sharing information in his own way and on his own timetable, a fact which John had made him aware of on many occasions. This was no different. 

“Watson is presently on holiday,” he stated.

She frowned. “Pardon? What has that to do with-”

“You see, it has become clear to the dear doctor that his efforts in the area of marriage have been sorely lacking, for quite some time actually. As my brother so pointedly stated, the war between us men and the ‘invisible army’ of the women in our lives is one we must lose. Because they are right, and we are wrong. I believe that Watson has finally come to terms with that fact. He is now making it his aim to be a better husband, and treat his wife as the equal that she is. Perhaps more than his equal, though don’t tell Watson I said so.”

Molly nodded slowly, listening to this seemingly unrelated information.

“Which brings me to the reason for my visit!” Sherlock finally stated with a little clap of his hands as he leaned forward again. “A case!”

She tilted her head, doing her best to follow his train of thought.

“I have recently been called to a case in the country involving a missing family heirloom; an engagement ring, to be precise. The family is most distraught, especially given the fact that the official engagement announcement at a lavish party is drawing near. I am inclined to take it on, as some of the details make it interesting enough for my taste...though I feel that I always benefit from the company of an assistant.” He finished the pointed statement while steepling his hands against his lips.

Molly’s lips parted in a silent “oh” of understanding. She paused and clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“Holmes, I- I feel a bit unsure at the idea of going anywhere at the moment. I’m presently on sick leave from the hospital until I decide once and for all what to do about my life here in London.”

“A fact of which I am already well aware of.”

“Yes, well...I am unsure that traipsing around the country investigating a case is the right course of action at the moment. I should be laying low, collecting my thoughts, and planning what to do next.”

“All of which you can do in the country while on a case with me,” he countered, undeterred by her concerns.

Molly looked down for a moment. “Why are you truly doing this? Asking this of me, I mean.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to pause in thought. When he did reply, his voice had softened considerably. 

“Because...there was a time when we used to be there for each other, whenever needed. I admit to needing your help now. But more importantly, I also believe that at this moment, your need for the help of a friend is even greater.”

She looked back at him then, gazing deep and obviously contemplating. It took a little while for her to finally answer. But eventually she straightened up and gave him a smile, albeit a bit hesitant. 

“Well then, Holmes...where is the case?”

He grinned and dug in his pocket, soon whipping out a train ticket and handing it over to her in triumph.

“I thought you’d never ask!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Hooper!” Sherlock greeted brightly as Molly strolled over to the seat on the train he’d saved for her. “Began to wonder if you’d be coming after all.”

“As you said,” she replied low with a smirk, “distraction.”

They both read the paper for a little while, but Molly dozed off eventually, and then only woke up to the conductor announcing their stop. Sherlock had to contain an amused smile as she straightened up and adjusted her waistcoat and jacket, also briefly checking to be sure she hadn’t jostled the placement of her mustache while asleep. 

“Do you remember when I painted it on that first time?” Sherlock whispered.

Molly threw him a glare before forcing her voice lower. “I looked like an imbecile.”

“If only Watson understood such things,” he muttered under his breath.

They exited the train with their bags in hand and Sherlock inquired at the station about accommodations. It ended up that there was an Inn not far down the road. A short carriage ride later and they’d arrived at the picturesque building, a vacancy sign hanging comfortingly at the front porch.

Molly and Sherlock stepped inside and removed their hats as Sherlock tapped on the bell at the desk, prompting a friendly looking older woman to appear.

“Ah, good day, gentlemen! What can I do for you?”

“We will require rooms for at least two nights.”

She opened a book on the counter and scanned the page. “I will happily be able to accommodate you, though I have only one room available at the moment.” 

Molly’s smiled dissolved and she shot a brief but nervous glance at Sherlock. He cleared his throat and righted his expression quickly though, trying not to miss a step.

“Not a problem. We shall take the room you have, thank you,” he replied politely to the woman, and she told him the rate per night. 

After business was conducted and she handed over the keys, Sherlock and Molly climbed the stairs to their room and got settled. There was only one bed, but he assured Molly she could have it all to herself, insisting that the armchair would be adequate, should he need some rest.

“We should waste no time in calling on the clients,” he announced as Molly came back from the washroom. “When I wrote ahead, I promised I would see them as soon as I arrived.”

“And, what shall I do? To help while with you, I mean. Shall I jot down notes? My forensic knowledge may not be a suitable contribution in this case.”

“Simply be yourself, Miss Hooper,” he stated, feeling that the answer was obvious despite the pleasantly surprised look on her face. “That is always of use.”

* * *

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Danvers, a pleasure to meet you,” Sherlock stated with a tight smile upon entering the family’s home.

“The pleasure is ours, Mr. Holmes,” Mr. Danvers said while giving him a hearty handshake. “We have the utmost faith in your ability to put this right before the night of the engagement party.”

“And this is my assistant, Dr. Matthew Hooper,” Sherlock explained, gesturing to Molly. “Anything you share with me can certainly be shared with him as well. He is my second set of eyes and ears while working this case.”

“The engagement party is in a week, is it?” Molly asked Mrs. Danvers.

“It is,” she confirmed. “Our son Harold is most distressed, as are we of course. Please, won’t you sit down?”

Sherlock and Molly followed the couple to the sitting room and they rang for tea. Sherlock naturally strolled about the room, examining the family portraits and various decor around the room. Molly did a nice job of keeping the couple chatting about the engagement while he did so, and of course excused Sherlock’s disinterest, assuring the couple that he needed to be allowed to work in his own way.

“Ah, tea, thank you, Moira,” Mrs. Danvers said with a smile at the maid who wheeled the tray in. 

The maid poured the tea for all four of them, politely asked if they would be needing anything else, and then the mistress thanked her again and dismissed her, prompting a quick curtsy and an exit.

“As we were saying,” Mrs Danvers continued. “Miss Andrews is thus far completely unaware of the situation. We did not want to cause concern to her or her parents, perhaps making them question the entire arrangement.”

“They are a fine family,” Mr. Danvers stated with pride. “We should like to see this entire thing proceed as smoothly as possible. They will not arrive in town till the day before the engagement party, and we would dearly like to have this entire mess behind us by then.”

“And your son is?” Sherlock questioned abruptly, finally coming to sit down and claim his cup of tea.

“Ah yes, well Harold was supposed to be here,” Mr. Danvers said with a glance at his wife. “He is a bit behind schedule, but surely you can begin a search without his presence. Especially since the ring was not in his possession when it disappeared.”

“Whose possession was it in?” Molly asked.

Mrs. Danvers sighed. “In truth, it was with me. I had put it in my purse to be specially cleaned before the big event. Only, by the time I arrived at the jewelers, it was not there.”

Sherlock chuckled lightly. “And have you not considered the possibility that it simply fell from your bag and onto the roadway in your travels?”

“It is unlikely, Mr. Holmes. I entered our family’s private carriage, looked in my bag to see it was still there, and when I arrived at the shop it was gone. I was not walking around with it in the open.”

Molly frowned. “How is that possible? You made no stop whatsoever before reaching the jeweler?”

“The carriage stopped only briefly. Harold rode up alongside me,” Mrs. Danvers said with a smile of motherly affection. “He got down and asked whether he should accompany me, but I assured him he was a busy man and I could do this one little thing. He kissed me on the cheek and we went our separate ways.”

Sherlock turned briefly to Molly and communicated a considerable amount with that one glance.

“We shall need to meet with your son as well, simply to have covered all background information before conducting an actual search,” he hurried to add so as to make it seem especially routine.

“Naturally,” Mr. Danvers agreed cooperatively. “Perhaps he is on the grounds. Why don’t I have someone take a look and fetch him for you?”

In only a few minutes, one of the household staff did confirm that Harold Danvers was currently in the stables with his horse. The Danvers parents started to ask that he be called inside, but Sherlock stood, prompting Molly to follow suit. 

“If you have no objection, I should dearly love a stroll on your impressively well maintained property. May we pay your son a visit?”

Mr and Mrs. Danvers gave them permission, farewell pleasantries were exchanged, and Sherlock and Molly exited the fine house. Almost instantly, Sherlock began firing off his thoughts to her.

“It’s the son, I’m sure of it. They’re a bit blinded of course. Don’t want to consider the fact that their precious boy would for any reason sabotage his own engagement, but it is rather obvious that he has.”

“Yes it does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Molly agreed, looking a little nervous. “Perhaps he doesn’t love her?”

“Likely not. It’s an acceptable match to his parents, but they mentioned nothing of their son’s relationship with this Miss Andrews.”

“Did you glean anything else while we were there?” Molly asked as they neared the stables.

“Only that they’ll be short one maid in a matter of months, though naturally they’ll take a bit longer to actually notice that she’s with child.”

Molly let out out a little laugh before she could stop herself. “The one that brought our tea? Goodness, how close were you looking?”

“By the state of her uniform which could barely contain her in the most obvious of places and the fact that she turned positively green while adding the cream or lemon to the tea,” he let out a short laugh, “a full medical exam was hardly necessary.”

“She could simply be ill, Mr. Holmes,” Molly reminded him, clearly not as impressed as his usual doctor companion tended to be. “Or perhaps have gained a bit of weight.” 

“I stand by my deduction,” he stated confidently. “Though, seeing as it is neither here nor there in terms of our investigation, I shall argue no further.”

“Somehow I imagine you’d be pleased to argue all day if we weren’t about to conduct another interview,” she muttered, and then indeed their private conversation had to cease, seeing as Harold Danvers walked out of the stables.

“Hello there, may I help you?”

“Mr. Danvers,” Sherlock stated with a smile, and extended his hand. “I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague Dr. Hooper. We have just called on your parents.”

“Ah yes, the ring,” Harold said with a nod. “Well it is a blessing to have you here and on the case!”

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed in agreement and then clasped his hands behind his back, continuing to stare with narrowed eyes at the young man, who was now looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Holmes?” Molly prompted quietly, clearly trying to move along the conversation.

Though, it was Sherlock’s aim to create a bit of discomfort in the man before diving straight to the point.

“Tell us, Mr. Danvers…” Sherlock paused for effect. “What have you done with the ring?”

The young man’s face contorted in confused amusement. “What? B-but I thought you were here to find it. Why are you asking me where is it? I should think that is your job!”

“Indeed, it is my job,” Sherlock agreed with a grin. “And I am pleased to tell you that I have already spoken to your parents and learned all that is needed, which is logically why I am here now asking you this very question. You though, unlike them, seem to underestimate me. But I shall ask you one more time. Where. Is. The ring?”

The man’s expression melted and he finally looked away, clenching his jaw and sighing. 

“Gosh, you are good,” he muttered. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be. Hoping I’d have time to find it before you!”

Sherlock and Molly frowned briefly at each other before looking back at him. 

“Wait a moment,” Molly cut in. “You mean to say you truly don’t know where it is either?”

“Look, I did take it,” Harold admitted before glancing around. “I took it the other day when I knew my mother had it in her bag on the way to the jeweler. The trouble is that now it really is gone. I set it in a little box on my dresser and then by the next day it wasn’t there!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Now the entire staff have become suspects.”

“Yes, but that’s just it!” Harold said desperately. “I know them, all of them. They’ve been with us for years and I trust them. So over the past few days I’ve been meeting with them each privately. I told them quite sincerely that if they’d taken the ring from my room that they needn’t be ashamed, but to please just confess and give it back. I promised each of them that I’d pay them more than the cost of the ring. They all swore on their lives that they’d never touched it!”

“That is hardly adequate proof,” Sherlock said without hesitation. “I need to be the one to speak to them, all of them.”

“Mr. Holmes, please do give me a bit more time!” Harold hurried to beg. “I need to finish speaking to some of them again. I think it possible that if one of them did do such a thing, they’d more readily confess to me. I am well liked by them and I should hate to think of some of them being so distressed at the idea of being a suspect of theft.”

Before Sherlock had time to respond to his request, Molly spoke again.

“Mr Danvers...what made you take the ring in the first place? Did you did not wish to marry?”

He looked a little sheepish. “Miss Andrews is a virtual stranger to me. She is a lovely young woman but I- I cannot care for her in that way. I was desperate to simply buy myself a bit of time; just enough to think of how to explain things to my parents. It is all so complicated and I needed to have a better plan before being honest with them. God forbid they announce the engagement, then I’m in an even bigger mess. I am sorry about the ring, truly! It was my grandmother’s and I hate to have my mother lose it forever. I want her to have it back of course.”

Sherlock stared at Harold with a critical eye. “We shall return tomorrow, Mr Danvers. At that time I should expect that you will allow me to do whatever is needed to investigate this missing ring. I cannot do my job without speaking to whoever may have important information.”

“Of course, yes of course,” he agree, looking contrite at both of them. “My apologies for this mess, and I promise I’ll do what I can to help.”

“A good day to you, Mr. Danvers,” Molly said with a little nod, and then turned with Sherlock to leave.

They began speaking freely once on the roadway.

“He’s still hiding something,” Sherlock stated.

“Yes, I think he is,” Molly agreed. “But he’s scared of something, I can see it in his eyes.”

“Perhaps another day will give him time to come to his senses and he’ll be even more forthcoming. And perhaps give us time to decide how to deal with his parents.”

“In the meantime…” Molly glanced around before reaching a bit under her wig to give her head a scratch. “Get me back to the inn because I’ve got to get this blasted thing off my head!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying it so far! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get a little bit fun in this one! ;)

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, replaying some of the conversation with the Danvers family that day as he took slow puffs from his pipe. Molly was off having a quick wash down the hall, and about twenty minutes later she came rushing back through the door.

“Ugh, such a nuisance,” she groaned while pulling the wig and mustache off and getting to work on her waistcoat. “To wash up and then have to dress again in all that foolishness just to walk down the hall!”

At that point she froze, mid-unbuttoning, staring back at Sherlock where he sat listening to her.

“Turn please,” she prompted with a little swirl of her fingers in the air.

Sherlock wordlessly obliged, standing from his seat and strolling over to the window with his pipe as Molly undressed. Though he very quickly realized that the window afforded more of a  _ reflection  _ than a view to the outside, and after the briefest glimpse of bare skin, he had to stare into the corner instead.

“You’ve cut your hair,” he stated, now feeling the need to fill the silence in order to drown the interesting thoughts in his head.

“Ah yes, you noticed...well, yes it just made sense. It was practical.”

Sherlock heard some rustling and was momentarily tempted to shift his gaze back to the window, but held fast to his focus on the unattractive floral paper on the wall.

“Practical?” he parroted with a little crack in his voice, hoping for some more conversation.

“Mm. In truth, I nearly cut it all off...I’m dressed, you may turn now.”

Sherlock turned and felt his heart pounding up into his throat so hard that it was difficult to breathe. He supposed it had been a very long time since he’d properly laid eyes on an especially feminine Molly Hooper, the last time being in extremely low lighting of that church, so perhaps his perception was out of balance. But it certainly looked to him in that moment like she was some sort of stereotypical angelic creature descended upon the earth.

Her shoulder length hair was damp and waving a bit, pushed over more to one side of her face than the other. She wore a white cotton nightdress, the scalloped lace detailing around her chest and upper arms with a blush colored simple dressing gown: a stark contrast to the stiff and serious attire which had become her life day in and day out. And it seemed to Sherlock that every inch of her exposed skin glowed almost blindingly in the light of fire in the little room.

“Obviously I did not mean I thought to cut literally  _ all  _ my hair off,” Molly said, picking up with the conversation as she climbed under the covers. 

Sherlock had all but forgotten and had to blink a few times before being able to join in again. “No, I should imagine not,” he agreed while taking his previous seat again.

“I did consider though, cutting it in the style of a man’s cut. Perhaps something like the wig I’ve been using. I thought, rid myself of the extra hair, thereby ridding myself of the wig.”

“But you didn’t,” he said, stating the obvious.

“No, I didn’t.” She smiled over at him. “It seems I have a shred of vanity left in here somewhere. It’s probably stupid, but I just couldn’t let that little thing go. I still wanted to be able to sit there all alone at night in my little room and know that if I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass that I’d just...see Molly Hooper. Because most of the time it’s hard to see her.”

Sherlock let out a soft chuckle.

“What?” Molly questioned from the bed.

“It just seemed an odd statement,” he commented thoughtfully, staring off beyond where she was and into nothing, “considering the fact that I would say it is almost impossible for me  _ not  _ to see you as who you are...as Molly Hooper.”

Sherlock’s eyes slid back to hers, a palpable line thrown from chair to bed. And she held fast to it too, for quite a few moments. It was quite surprisingly clear to Sherlock in that moment that he didn’t want her to let go. Not ever.

But all too soon she turned away, visibly drawing a deep breath.

“But I can’t always be Molly Hooper,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to him. Then she turned to him again, giving him an almost bitter smile. “Even here and now. Here we are on this case, and who is with you as your assistant? Dr.  _ Matthew _ Hooper.  _ He _ is the one who gets what he wants...not me.”

Her shift in mood alerted him; gave him a glimpse into the sort of storm that raged inside her on a regular basis. And her wording intrigued him a bit as well.

“And,” he began cautiously, “what is that you...want?”

She shrugged one shoulder and shook her head a little. “It hardly matters now. I made a choice years ago and my life is what it is. Silly to focus on what I don’t have. I have some things that matter, and that should be enough.”

Sherlock couldn’t claim to be completely certain of what she was holding back, but his response was an automatic one.

“You deserve to have  _ all _ the things that matter to you. I’ve always believed that.”

He noted then that she opened her mouth as if to respond, but stopped herself, closing it abruptly and chewing her bottom lip in silence instead. Finally she looked him in they eye and gave him a tight smile.

“Good night, Mr. Holmes,” she said, soft and simple, and then she lay down with her back facing him.

“Good night, Miss Hooper.”

* * *

 

_ Personal Journal of M. Hooper, M.D. _

 

_ 10th of January, 1896 _

 

_ I hoped this would not happen. I foolishly believed that I would have the inner strength to avoid this sort of pitfall, and that this simply would be a needed distraction from the mess of my life in London. _

_ But God help me, I do not possess the inner strength to ignore a love like this. _

_ It is a thrill to see him work, to work  _ **_alongside_ ** _ him. I cannot help falling in love with his brilliant mind all over again. And every other lovely bit of him as well. Just to be near him is intoxicating. Ironically, given my current situation, he makes me feel like more of a woman than I have been able to feel in a long time. _

_ He looks beautifully unearthly right now...sleeping peacefully in the chair near my bed. Looking at him like this sends a force akin to electricity clear through me, making me want to rush to his side, caress his face, brush the hair from his brow, and place a kiss just there. To feel his skin beneath my lips again, it would be like heaven. _

_ I both smile and blush when I remember the only time that I have experienced such a thing. It was pure madness, though I can’t say I regret it. I was off to medical school, after his helpful suggestions of course. I was a bundle nerves and excitement, and somehow it gave me a measure of courage I’d not had before. I kissed him at the last moment, just before I had to rush to board the train. I can’t help laughing a bit at the memory; the way I managed to get a good hold of his lapels in order to pull him down to meet my lips. It was hard and fast and mostly just a blur...but oh it was magnificent. He hadn’t the time to say a word because I thanked him for his help, bid him farewell, and was off. His expression spoke rather clearly though, all shock and awe! I wonder if he ever thinks of that day… _

_ I suppose I am partly glad that I did it since I imagine it will be the one and only experience of that kind with him. It is silly for me to feel sorry for myself when so many others suffer far worse fates than mine. I know this. And I have resolved to be content with what I have, and with what my life is. There is much to be grateful for and enjoy.  _

_ It would be so much easier though, if Sherlock Holmes would stop reminding me of what I do not have. _

* * *

 

“Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Holmes,” Harold Danvers said with a smile as they all took a seat. “And you, Dr. Hooper.”

“We are hopeful that we shall get to the bottom of things today,” Sherlock stated to the whole family, but with a brief pointed glance at Harold.

“Did you already ring for tea, darling?” Mr. Danvers asked his wife.

“Yes indeed, it should be here any minute,” she assured him, then turned her attention to their guests. “Now, I do hope you have a good idea of where to start looking today.”

“We have some thoughts, yes,” Molly answered, then nodded to Sherlock to direct the conversation away from the actual ring temporarily. 

“And when is the wedding date set for?” Sherlock asked, sounding as fascinated by the topic as he could.

“It’ll be a summer wedding,” Mrs. Danvers said with a grin at her son. “We shall set the precise date after the engagement party when Harold is finally able to give the poor girl her ring!”

“Yes, it’s time to get a move on for our boy,” Mr. Danvers added with an air of pride. “He’s been home from university and cooling his heels for long enough. Got to take on more responsibility in the family business, settle down, and hopefully start a family of his own.”

“Dad,” Harold said with a small laugh of embarrassment. 

“And the Andrews are a lovely family,” Mrs. Danvers went on, needing no prompting to continue on the subject of the impending wedding. “We couldn’t have asked for a better match. She’s lovely, isn't she, Harold?”

Just then, the maid came in with the tray of tea and began getting everyone a cup. 

Harold hesitated a bit. “Miss Andrews is uh, she is lovely yes. Seems a fine woman.”

“You two made quite the picture in London last month!” Mr. Danvers said with a little pat on his son’s back. “You’re a lucky man.”

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and was about to tell the family that when they were through they would be speaking to some of the staff, but Molly stopped him short.

“Holmes, may I speak with you for a moment?”

He frowned, but could see from her expression that she really must need to discuss something rather urgently. He turned to the family and smiled.

“Apologies, we shall be only a moment.”

Sherlock and Molly exited to the front porch and Molly began speaking rapidly in a hushed voice.

“We need to question that maid, Moira.”

“Well naturally we will, she is part of the staff.”

“No, we especially need to question her!” Molly insisted. “Holmes...she’s in love with Harold!”

He blinked in momentary confusion as a new bit of information was introduced to his brain. “W-what?”

“I was watching her,” she explained excitedly, “while she was serving the tea. I saw the way she was looking at Harold. And she could barely keep her wits about her as Mr. Danvers spoke about how lucky his son was. That was when she nearly dropped the cup! Holmes, what if she took the ring?”

Sherlock’s eyes suddenly widened and he let out a little gasp. “Miss Hooper, that’s it! That is what Harold Danvers wasn’t telling us yesterday. He tried to tell us that the situation is ‘complicated’ despite the fact that not wanting to marry a woman you don’t know is really rather simple. But no, his situation is complicated, because he’s not just thinking of himself is he?”

Now it was Molly turn to realize what he was thinking. “Good God...Moira’s pregnancy?”

Sherlock nodded. “We need to speak to the two of them alone.”

“Easy enough. Ask that Harold to show us to the kitchen so we can speak to some of the staff,” she suggested.

“Perfect. Come, let’s not keep them waiting long.”

Sherlock and Molly returned to the waiting family and drank their tea as quickly as possible. As soon as they were able, Sherlock requested a meeting with the head butler, glancing at Harold pointedly as he spoke, which prompted the young man to volunteer to escort them. As hoped for, Mr. and Mrs. Danvers let their son take over and happily stayed in the sitting room. 

The moment they got down to the kitchen, Sherlock turned to Harold. 

“Right, we shall need to speak with you and your parent’s maid Moira.”

Harold stiffened visibly. “Th-that shouldn’t be necessary. She has not been well of late. Best not to upset her.”

Molly stepped forward and spoke firmly. “Please fetch her, Harold. We need to speak to you both.”

Harold’s expression became resigned and his shoulders drooped. He turned and trudged down the hallway, knocking on a nearby door and summoning her to come out.

A few moments later, both Harold and Moira walked toward Sherlock and Molly, already appearing a bit nervous.

“Moira,” Molly began, “have you been properly examined by a doctor?”

The maid looked horrified from Harold back to Molly. “Wh-what do you mean? Why should I need to be examined?”

“We are aware that you are with child,” Sherlock interjected.

Her jaw dropped. “Oh God,” she breathed out, clutching her middle and looking at Harold. “Did you tell them?”

“No, I swear to you!” he assured her, looking just as horrified.

“The point being though,” Sherlock continued, “Dr. Hooper’s and my theory is correct. Moira, you are with child, and Harold, you are clearly the father. This is your complicated situation, is it not?”

Harold sighed heavily. “This is stupid, I know it is. I never should have taken that blasted ring! It hasn’t made any of this easier. Who knows if they’ll even call off the party next week if it isn’t found! You’ve seen how thrilled they are by the whole plan!”

Sherlock eyed Moira carefully, who was wringing her hands nervously and chewing her lip.

“Moira,” Sherlock prompted, making her look to him. “Perhaps you may be of some assistance.”

It didn’t take much more than ten seconds of pointed staring for the poor girl to crack, her eyes filling with tears as she turned to Harold.

“Harry, I’m sorry! I took it from your room that night after you’d taken it from your mother! I hid it, hoping that perhaps if it was really and truly gone, even where you couldn’t find it, perhaps they’d call the arrangement off. I hid it under a loose floor board under my bed. Forgive me, please! I thought it might help if even you didn’t know where it was!”

Harold took her in his arms. “Please don’t cry, I know you were trying to help. It’s alright,” he said kindly. “It was a ridiculous plan from the start and I don’t know how we thought it would do much good.”

“I know, I know,” she mumbled into his shirt.

A moment later Moira straightened up again and offered to retrieve the missing ring box from the location she’d confessed. There was only one thing left for Sherlock to do.

“I shall have to return this to it’s rightful owner,” he said seriously to the young couple once he had the item in hand. “But...I believe I will be able to do so discreetly, without implicating either of you. Harold, can you hurry upstairs and fetch the purse that your mother was carrying the day you took the ring? And Moira, fetch a small pair of sewing scissors.”

“I believe I know what you are planning,” Molly said with a smile of approval. “Simple but brilliant, Holmes.”

“Why thank you, Hooper,” he replied with a discreet wink.

* * *

 

“Mrs. Danvers,” Sherlock announced as he, Molly, and Harold entered the sitting room, “I believe you will be interested to see what we have discovered...in your purse.”

Sherlock handed the ring to the wide eyed woman.

“Good heavens! In my purse?!”

“Yes, madam, allow me to show you.”

Sherlock took the woman's small handbag and turned it inside out. He pointed to a tear on one of the seams of the lining and stuck his finger through it.

“You see, it had clearly made its way through the lining, but still remained safely in the bag between the inner and outer layer of fabric. A common enough occurrence in garment pockets and bags.”

Mr. Danvers appeared terribly embarrassed. “Goodness, Mr. Holmes, I feel simply awful to have hired you for such a trivial matter and dragged you all this way. This will of course have no bearing whatsoever on your fee. We shall compensate you fully for your time!”

“Very kind of you,” Sherlock replied with a small smile.

“And perhaps now things can proceed just as they should be,” Molly said with a pointed glance at Harold.

The young man nodded. “Indeed, Dr. Hooper...as they should be.”

The matter of payment was quickly settled, and soon Sherlock and Molly were leaving the Danver’s home with many grateful waves and smiles. 

“It seems so strange to leave now,” Molly commented once they were a good distance away. “It feels as if...nothing is truly resolved. I cannot help but wonder what Harold Danvers will now do!”

“Yes, a case can often turn out that way,” Sherlock said solemnly. “It is only truth which I can uncover. I may solve the case, Miss Hooper...but I am often ill equipped to solve the real problems.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock loosened his necktie the moment the door shut to their room at the Inn. He supposed he needed to relax now that the case was done, though he was also feeling an added nagging anxiety now. As he glanced over at Molly, who was removing her wig and mustache in front of the mirror, he realized why.

He really didn’t want all of this to be over.

This had all been like a dream; living in her presence, working with her, just  _ being _ with her. He couldn’t recall it even feeling this way in their university days. The experience had reminded him of what he’d been carefully repressing for the past couple of years. There was so much he wanted with Molly Hooper, and the past couple of days barely scratched the surface.

“I can’t help but hope Harold Danvers does the right thing,” Molly said, interrupting his thoughts, which he wasn’t sorry for.

Sherlock glanced at her as he shrugged off his jacket, prompting her to go on.

“I mean to say doing the right thing with Moira and his family, and being brave enough to tell the truth. But I imagine he will be. He seems a good sort of man.”

“Perhaps he is,” Sherlock replied casually. “I shall leave that up to your judgement, seeing as I am not well acquainted with what makes up a  _ good man. _ ”

He turned away, laying his jacket and necktie over the back of the chair. After a moment of silence, Molly spoke again, confusion lacing her tone.

“Pardon?” she questioned. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“By what?”

“Saying you are not well acquainted with what makes up a good man,” she clarified. 

Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment. “Simply that it is not my area.  _ Goodness  _ is not what I use my time and mental energy for. It is not my prime focus, and therefore I would not be likely to make an accurate estimation of that quality in someone else. I am hardly a good man myself, so how could I-”

“Rubbish!” Molly interrupted forcefully, making Sherlock halt.

She took a few steps closer to him as she almost angrily tugged her own necktie off. 

“Mr. Holmes, perhaps you are right that you know nothing of what a good man is. But I will argue that it is not for the reason you claim. It is simply because you do not think well enough  _ of yourself  _ to see it.”

He frowned a little at her implication as she continued talking.

Molly shook her head as she sat on the edge of the bed. “I have lived and worked among men for years now. I have been seen as one and therefore I have witnessed the reality that many ladies do not. At least, not until it is sometimes too late. What I have seen and heard and learned...almost none of it is exemplary or worthy or respect. The way that women are not just treated, but also spoken of when not present...it makes me ill.”

Sherlock listened silently until then, taken aback by her surprising and sobering comments. But finally his lips parted hesitantly.

“I am sorry,” he said softly.

Molly let out a humorless laugh. “But it is you least of all who should be offering apology! Do you not see that? I have known you for years, and make no mistake I have seen your virtues and your vices alike. But do you know that still, despite some of the negatives, you remain one of the most-” 

She stopped, pressing her lips together and turning her face away for a moment.

“Miss Hooper?” Sherlock questioned in mild concern, noting her shift in emotion.

She turned back to him with a little sniff, smiling despite the moisture now visible in her eyes. Those eyes...they pulled him from where he stood and caused him to take a few slow steps toward where she sat.

“I care nothing for what anyone else says- what you say even,” she said, her tone one of conviction. “You are such a  _ good man. _ ” 

Sherlock halted there, a couple paces from her, staring in wonder. He couldn’t help but think that he may never have heard those particular words said to him in quite that same way, with such intensity and unshakable faith.

Molly broke eye contact then, looking down at her lap and shaking her head as she continued softly. “Despite all my sneering and unkind words while playing a part, you were always the man who I...well, I’ve always respected and admired you. Of course you can be harsh and abrupt and perhaps even rude, but that goodness is still there, shining through in the ways that truly matter and define a man. Perhaps it’s hard for even you to believe, but it is the truth.”

“You believe it,” he replied instantly, taking a couple more steps till he was directly in front of where she sat. “And that...is a far greater gift than I expected.”

Her head shot up again, meeting his gaze in surprise at the words. He cleared his throat at her look of shock. 

“Miss Hooper, your estimation of my character is worth more than I can say. Certainly more than I ever had the courage to say. You and I have come quite a long way since our days in university, and quite a bit has happened, but naturally, there are some things,” he said looking at her pointedly, “which I’ve never forgotten.”

“You haven’t?” she breathed out.

He shook his head slowly. “You?”

She shook her head as well. “How could I ever forget? Memories of times spent with you are some of the happiest I have. I- I treasure them.”

She got up abruptly then, slipping past him and quickly removing her waistcoat, seeming a bit jittery now. Sherlock could understand how she was feeling. It seemed to him as if electricity was suddenly coursing up and down his body as well.

Molly ran fingers through her hair as she unpinned it with her back to him. “I suppose I should tell you now that I...I shan't be returning to London with you tomorrow.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide. “N-not returning to London?”

Molly turned, setting the pins down alongside her wig as she looked at him solemnly. 

“Mr. Holmes, I can no longer pretend that a life in London is the safest and wisest course, which can hardly come as a surprise to you. I was already considering taking my leave, but I’ve been thinking more seriously about it over these past couple of days. I can see no alternative and I feel that delaying only puts me at further risk. I wish to book passage to America as soon as possible.”

“America,” Sherlock repeated in a murmur, staring back at her. 

Molly nodded. “Perhaps somewhere in the mid-west. There are some women able to establish themselves as respectable doctors there. I want to be a doctor- really be one, as Molly Hooper, as myself. No more playing a part to live the life I want. It’s just- it’s better that way. So...I packed the things that really mattered when we left for the case. I wanted to be ready, in case I were to decide not to return.”

He paused, looking away in thought. But it was no use. He went over the facts in his own mind and only confirmed that she was of course correct. Yes, her very life was at risk if she stayed in the city. If it was discovered that she was one of the brides and had been deceiving the hospital for years, her life would no doubt come to an instant halt. She would be a criminal, on more than one count. And he knew he would be virtually powerless to prevent her reaping the consequences. At the moment he couldn’t help feeling a bit powerless overall.

He was about to lose her.

“Molly,” he said softly, taking a step closer.

She visibly stiffened, looking as if she might flee in panic.

“Mr. Holmes, please, my mind is made up and I realize that it may be an inconvenience to you if I should leave Bart’s, but you must understand that-”

“Inconvenience?” Sherlock repeated with crinkled brow. “That is all you presume your absence would be to me?”

She swallowed hard and her voice sounded smaller than usual when she made a reply.

“What else it would be?”

He drew a breath as he felt emotions reach a boiling point in his chest, and this time he found himself accepting the fact that they were about to boil over.

“Pain,” he said pointedly, taking a step forward with each word, “loneliness, regret...heartbreak.”

She stared up at him in what looked like a combination of shock and captivation. 

“Does that clarify?” Sherlock questioned, his eyes locked to hers.

Molly slowly shook her head. “Mr. Holmes, speaking words like that, you may lead me to believe- that is, I cannot help but think you are saying that you feel-”

“Because  _ I do. _ ”

Molly was clearly speechless at his admission. And before she was able to formulate a response, Sherlock leaned down, gently cradling her face as he pressed his lips to hers. He was instantly a bit injured though, because he felt her hands come up, shoving back against his chest and breaking the contact.

“Why did you have to do that?” Molly questioned almost angrily, her voice shaky and eyes now glistening. “Why now? Why?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, wanting to say something to soothe her, though he hardly knew exactly what. But the next thing he knew, her fiery eyes had darted to his hesitant lips...and she dove back in.

Molly’s arms locked around his neck and shoulders, holding herself against him as she pressed her mouth to his once again. It took only a few seconds for their kiss to shift from cautious to hungry. Deeper and more desperate than hunger, really. It was more like starvation. 

How many times had he narrowed his eyes at her and scoffed in that darkened morgue, or that she had sneered at him talking over her in her own beloved place of employment? How many times had they played a part over the years, or perhaps even felt the line of acting and reality blur in times of stress? For so long they hadn’t been themselves when together. But all the while, for all that time,  _ this  _ had still been there under the surface. They had been starving for this...for each other.

Molly pulled back, keeping her forehead against his as their parted lips hovered near, sharing the same air.

“Why now?” Molly questioned again, softer this time. The anger was gone, but the despair in her tone hadn’t waned.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. It was all he could think to say, knowing that his lack of control was just dreadful timing. “I could no longer pretend.”

“You mean it, don’t you? This is real?” she asked, though by her tone she already knew the answer.

He nodded. “I resisted for so long, trying not to think about memories such as that brief taste of your lips on that train platform all those years ago. But I could not truly let it rest, along with so many other things. None of it ever left me.  _ You  _ never left me. Somewhere inside I knew that one day this is where I would end up. Here with you.”

“I still cannot be in London,” she added sadly, speaking what he was already thinking. “This changes nothing, except that now it is all the more painful.”

She was right. In fact, perhaps now more than ever she could not safely stay in the city. He envisioned the likelihood of discovery should Molly attempt to retain her false identity and employment at Bart’s all while living as herself and as the woman in his life. That sort of juggling act was bound to end in disaster. She could not live her life both ways.

Sherlock pulled further back, grasping her face and looking at her with conviction. “Only temporarily painful, because I will wait for you.”

She frowned up at him. “Wait for me? But you must realize that my absence cannot be brief.”

He nodded. “I do. And that is nothing to me, as long as you feel the same.”

A smile slowly spread on her face. “I would wait forever.”

“Forever is hardly necessary,” Sherlock replied with a playful smirk. “Though, your enthusiasm is heartening.”

Molly laughed a little and the sight was comforting to Sherlock, to see a little light in her eyes again.

“I believe, Miss Hooper,” he said, brushing some of her hair aside, “that I am already formulating a plan.”

“Holmes,” she said softly, his surname sounding like a gentle caress now, “you cannot change this. I still must go.”

“Yes, yes I know,” Sherlock agreed. “But we can certainly look ahead and plan for your return. If I have my way, London will be ready for you this time; for the  _ real  _ you. I want the entire city to be as thrilled to have you as I am.”

“You always have supported me in one way or another, and you have no idea how much that has meant to me. As I said,” she whispered while grasping his face affectionately, “a truly  _ good _ man.”

Sherlock shut his eyes in bliss at the feeling of her hands on his face. He didn’t always, but tonight he really did feel like a good man, just as she claimed. She made him feel that perhaps he really was worthy of her, which was no small thing in the case of a woman like her. He silently vowed to always be the sort of man that she deserved.

But at the moment, they had quite a task ahead of them. It was time to plan a new life for Dr. Molly Hooper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happy sigh* And yet, they don't have their happy ending quite yet...so on to the epilogue! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

_ Personal Journal of M. Hooper, M.D. _

 

_ 10th of April, 1898 _

 

_ Heavens, it has been weeks since I’ve had a moment of peace to put my thoughts to paper! Now, while floating across the big wide ocean, I can finally take a moment to myself. _

_ I feel as if I am nothing but a bundle of nerves and excitement at the moment. How very long it has been since I have set foot in London. The sights, sounds, and smells have never left me, but they have become like the memories of a dream: so far removed and untouchable that they barely exist in reality anymore. I think it will be a bit like stepping into a dream when I finally arrive! _

_ An especially lovely dream of course. _

_ I cannot wait to see him. It’s been almost six months since I’ve last seen Sherlock Holmes; since the last time he held me in his arms. The dear man made four trips to America over these two years. Quite a bother and an expense if you ask me, but he insisted. And naturally I couldn’t complain. I have of course loved every minute of establishing myself in the medical field and being so wonderfully independent. But all the while, half of my heart was across the sea. And I cannot wait to be reunited with it once more.  _

_ To see his grandmother’s little ring sparkling on my finger reminds me what I’m returning home to, and it seems too wonderful to be true. Naturally, we had already long ago settled on our desire to marry. But I admit to being a bit swept away by a proper proposal during his last visit. It suddenly became so very real, which felt marvelous. I look forward to so many things finally becoming real now. _

_ Matthew Hooper is long dead of course. Not to say that we invented his death, however, his identity is no longer to be kept alive. Sherlock has been so diligent, ensuring that everyone knew how the man had up and abandoned his post in order to care for a family emergency in America. And by now he’s spent over a year sharing my case studies and research with his colleagues at Bart’s. He made me laugh in the last letter I received before my journey. He swore that by now, with how very highly I have been spoken of, Dr. Stamford would practically be jumping up and down when he learns of my moving here from America. I feel sure that my dear Holmes will not rest until I am once again established in my desired profession within our beloved city. Perhaps I shall not have seen the last of that familiar morgue after all! _

_ I suppose I should get some sleep now, while I can. The ship is not sailing terribly smoothly at the moment, but perhaps the worst of it will pass during the night. If all goes well we should arrive in London in another three days. And I simply cannot wait to set foot in that city as Dr Molly Hooper...and never be anyone else again. _

* * *

 

There was a notable spring in his step as he neared the docks. Mrs. Hudson had even commented on it that morning as he’d made his way out the door of 221B. He supposed it was pointless to even try and hide his level of elation. Today was the day...the day London would finally be complete once again.

Such a lovely piece of the city had been missing now for far too long.

For the past six months he’d bragged to anyone who would listen about his brilliant fiancé who was overseas and soon to return home. And naturally he’d been especially loose-lipped with anyone connected to the hospital. He very thoroughly enjoyed their looks of wonder as he read the insightful articles Molly had penned or the local medical cases she’d worked on. 

And it had all worked out to be quite believable. The presumably male Dr. Hooper who had left the city two years earlier had supposedly invited him to America for an especially peculiar local case...which was when Sherlock had been able to claim first making the acquaintance of his lovely cousin, Dr. Molly Hooper. After that first visit, Molly was the only Hooper that Sherlock bothered to speak of Dr. Matthew Hooper was a name quickly forgotten; eclipsed and overtaken.

Exactly as it should be and as Sherlock had planned it.

As he rounded the corner, catching first glimpse of the docks, he was struck by the realization that the ship had already arrived, and passengers were already disembarking...and then he saw her.

Sherlock hadn’t really anticipated the torrent of emotion that overtook him at the sight of her. He hadn’t expected that he would break out in a run, tossing his hat to the ground as he neared her, and scooping her up around the waist to lift her feet from the ground and hold her against him in an embrace that could surely be deemed inappropriate for such a public place. But he also couldn’t possibly find it in his heart to care.

Molly Hooper was finally home.

That lovely weight filled his arms once more and the scent of her skin mixed with the sea air filled his nose as he enjoyed the sensation of her arms clinging round his neck. It was the most marvelous feeling in the world. Even setting her down and loosening his hold a few moments later made his arms ache for the closeness again.

She looked up at him with misty eyes after being set down and reverently caressed his face.

“Is this real?” she questioned with a small laugh. “I can hardly believe I’m here in London again...with you.”

“Nothing could be more real,” Sherlock murmured, his eyes positively glued to her face, uncaring of the crowds of people that shuffled by them on either side. “I never want to lose you again.”

“And you never shall!” Molly assured him, briefly lifting on tiptoes to brush his nose with hers. “My life is here now.”

Sherlock lifted her hand, slowly kissing her fingers and feeling the little ring beneath the fabric of her gloves. He then dropped his head down a bit, resting his forehead against hers and lowering his voice to a whisper.

“That is the first of very many kisses I intend to bestow upon you, and I find myself to be a bit impatient in continuing with the task…”

Molly’s cheeks glowed pink and she glanced around her with a nervous smile. “My dear Holmes, you have waited this long. Surely a bit longer will not do you in completely!”

“Oh, but it might,” he said with a little smirk while looping her arm into his and lifting her case.

He led her back to the street where he’d left a cab waiting, hoisting her bag onto the back before helping her inside.

“Goodness, I shall miss strolling about London in trousers!” Molly said with a giggle while straightening her skirts as they took a seat. “This will be a different sort of city life than I was used-”

Sherlock had gently tilted her head toward him and caught her mouth with his as the cab began to move, further illustrating his previously stated impatience.

“A stop at the courthouse on route to Baker Street, perhaps?” Sherlock whispered in her ear as his lips traveled from her lips to her jawline.

She scrunched up her shoulder at the pleasant sensation and laughed at him. 

“You, sir, have a very singular focus!” Molly playfully chided. She turned her head to meet his lips again before adding softly, “Soon...soon.”

He raised a brow. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”

Sherlock added weight to his request with a series of kisses along her cheek and back to the bit of her neck which wasn’t covered by the collar of her dress. The shaky sigh that escaped her lips made him smile in triumph against her skin.

“You are terribly convincing,” Molly whispered. “And it occurs to me that I may be just as short on patience as you are. Perhaps...tomorrow.”

Sherlock pulled away and gazed into her eyes, more seriously then. “Forgive me, but I had not fully realized the full weight of your absence till you were back in my arms. I hadn’t intended to rush you.”

She smiled softly, brushing his cheek. “You needn’t apologize. I feel the very same way. You see, I think that we have both been trying to be something we are not, in one way or another, for such a very long time. And the idea that we might finally just be...us? Well, I believe that is just what our hearts have been yearning for.”

Sherlock returned her smile and then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her securely against his chest as the carriage rolled along the bustling London streets. 

She was right. In recent years they had both claimed to be many things that were a far cry from the truth. It was a greater relief than they’d realized it would be, now that it was all over. No need to be anyone or anything else besides who they truly were- Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. It made the love and happiness that settled in over them so much more wonderfully real.They were together. This would be their life now.

And there was nothing pretend about it.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, guys! Would love to hear some comments! And also just a reminder that the SAMFA are right around the corner, and this will be one of my fics that I'm hoping gets nominated. Help a writer out lol! But even if not, thanks again for taking the time to read. It's always appreciated! ;))


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